Delusions of Grandeur
by Sonata Rapp
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a successful Auror who is about to get dumped right in the middle of the most complicated case of his career. It only makes sense that a formerly missing Harry Potter is at the heart of it.
1. Chapter 1

__Chapter 1

_Draco leaned back against the couch, exhaustion weighing him down. He was dirty, cut, scraped, and tired and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a soft bed. His eyes slid to the person sitting next to him, and he knew that however he felt, Harry had to feel one hundred times worse. _

_Or better, perhaps? Draco didn't know. _

_The bespectacled boy was staring into the fire, just as dirty and worn looking as Draco felt. He couldn't see Harry's eyes with the firelight reflecting in his glasses, but he imagined that the green depths would be intense. _

"_Hey," Draco said, swinging his feet up from the floor and plopping them in Harry's lap. "Are you still alive over there? Only I would hate to have to go tell everyone that you'd died after all. It would put a damper on the celebrating." _

_Harry snorted, pushing half-heartedly at Draco's feet. "That really isn't funny, you insensitive sod," he said, though his lips quirked in a smile. _

"_Did the trick, though, didn't it?" _

"_Shut up." _  
_  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on, Potter. Stop looking so melancholy. It's over." _

"_Not really. There's still rebuilding, and hunting down the last of the Death Eaters. No one can account for McNair, or Rabastan Lestrange, or-" _

"_My father, yes, I know." _

"_Draco..." _

_Draco held up a hand. "I __**know **__, Potter." _

_Harry sighed, shoving Draco's feet from his lap and punching him lightly in the shoulder. "You'll be alright. We'll look after you." _

"_I do __**not **__need looking after," Draco replied, voice derisive, but eyes bright. "I am not a child." _

_Harry smiled. _

"Auror Malfoy! Auror Malfoy, are you in there?"

Draco Malfoy's head shot up from where it had been resting on his desk. He blinked and looked around, rolling his eyes when he realized that yes, he had fallen asleep at his desk. Again. It took him a moment to focus and realize that the banging noise had not been a part of his dream, but was someone knocking rather forcefully on his office door.

"What?" he barked, rubbing at his face.

A young woman, new to the Auror Corps, whose name Draco couldn't begin to remember, opened the door and poked her head in. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but Auror Weasley sent me to tell you to go home. Er...right now."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I imagine his language was somewhat more colorful than that, but yes, fine. You can tell him the message has been received."

The girl nodded, withdrawing and shutting the door.

Draco sat back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh. He knew he was working too bloody hard if he was dreaming about Potter again. Those dreams only came when he was at his most exhausted. When he felt nearly as bone weary as he had back in those days. He tried to keep that from happening, but when one was practically the right hand of the Head Auror, it wasn't always easy.

Eight years had passed since the war, and they had been anything but quiet. The rebuilding alone had taken nearly a full year, simply because there was so much to be rebuilt. Hogwarts, parts of the Ministry, houses, lives.

None of it was easy. Especially for Draco.

Even though he had changed sides in the middle of the war, escaping from the Manor with the help of Professor Snape the summer after sixth year and offering all the information he had to the Order of the Phoenix, people still saw him as the enemy.

He was Marked, of course, and that, coupled with his last name, did a lot to keep Wizarding society from seeing all of the things Draco had done to help them.

It had been months after the war before Draco could leave Grimmauld Place without having to duck hexes and jeers thrown his way.

The self imposed exile hadn't been so bad. Potter was hiding out too, although _he _was ducking adoration and marriage proposals.

The two of them had already struck up a tentative friendship while Draco was assisting the Order, and being cooped up in a musty old house together for six months only solidified their camaraderie. Or so Draco had thought.

Another loud knock on his door, jarred Draco from thoughts of the past, making him jump and glare irritably at the wood. "Weasley, I know fifteen different ways to eviscerate a man without going for my wand," he snapped. "I will not hesitate to try them all out on you if you do not stop that infernal banging."

The door opened and Ron walked in, not looking the least bit afraid. "Is that any way to speak to the Head Auror?"

"Probably not, but as you always insist, you don't care for all of that title rubbish," Draco replied, beginning to shove files into his bag.

"What are you still doing here?" Ron asked, leaning against the wall. "It's after nine, and I told you to clear out at six."

"I was reading up on the Dewit case, and I lost track of time."

Ron snorted. "You mean you fell asleep."

"I did no such thing."

Ron arched one ginger eyebrow, doing a very good impression of Draco himself. "Try that with someone who hasn't known you for so long. Go home, Malfoy, and don't come back until Monday."

Draco grumbled, continuing to pack his bag before standing and slinging the bag over his shoulder. "And what do you propose I do all weekend?"

"I don't know. Go out. Get pissed. Get laid."

"You sound like my mother."

"I don't believe Narcissa Malfoy ever said anything like that to you."

Draco smirked. "You'd be surprised. And anyway, why are _you _still here? Didn't Hermione threaten to hex your bollocks off if you weren't home before Rose went to bed?"

"She did," Ron agreed, wincing at the thought. "But I fire called her. We're getting more information about those magical spikes in America, and it's still early over there."

"Should I not be around for that?" Draco asked with a frown.

"No, you should not," Ron replied, putting a mocking note of refinery in his voice. "It's just the Heads right now. And the Ministers, or whatever they call their version of Kingsley over there. I'll fill you in on Monday. You know, when you're allowed to come back."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

Ron walked over and clapped him on the back. "Forget the getting pissed and getting laid. Just get some sleep, yeah? You look like you need it, and I don't need you falling asleep in the field or something."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Seven years, Weasley, and I have never once fallen asleep in the field." He held up his hand to stem the arguement about to burst from Ron. "But I take your point."

"Good. Then get out," Ron said, flapping his hands at Draco.

Shaking his head, the blond left his office, heading down to the Atrium so he could floo home. "You're acting like your wife," he called over his shoulder, walking to the lift.

"Watch it, Malfoy!" Ron shouted back. "I have the power to sack you."

"Then who would do all the work around here?" Draco called just as the doors of the lift closed, cutting off any reply Ron might have made. Draco smirked. He loved having the last word.

* * *

Draco's flat was empty, as he knew it would be. His mother and Hermione fussed over him, saying that he needed someone to come home to, but truly Draco liked it better this way. The discrimination he had faced in the aftermath of the war, the distrust from people that he had risked his life to help, cut him deeply and made him reluctant to let people in.

He was on friendly terms with Ron and Hermione, mostly because they were among the few people who knew that he wasn't a miniature version of his father. Most of the Weasley family liked him since he had saved Ron's arse a fair few times when they were pursuing some criminal or other. He still got a few dirty looks from people when he was in Diagon Alley, but Draco didn't think he could change that.

He had worked his arse off to get to where he was, and he was proud of that. Everyone else could just sod right off. He had seven years of being a successful Auror under his belt, and he was the unofficial second in command of the Auror Corps. He'd put away nutters who acted like aspiring neo-Death Eaters, thieves, smugglers, and even the occasional murderer. He was even on a fucking first name basis with the Minister for Magic. If that wasn't good enough for society, then Draco didn't know what else he could do.

"And I don't care, either," he murmured to himself as he dropped his bag on the couch and flicked his wand to light up his kitchen. He put the kettle on, and in the silence of his flat, he couldn't help but think about the dream he'd had.

Potter had believed in him.

After it had become clear that Draco was serious about helping the Order, it hadn't mattered about the Mark on his arm or the fact that he was Lucius Malfoy's son. Or even that Draco had spent the better part of their time at Hogwarts being an arse. Potter trusted him and believed in him.

The whistling of the kettle caught his attention, and Draco spared a moment to be disgusted with himself. Potter was gone. And to where, no one knew. It didn't make sense to sit around thinking about the bloody git if he was never coming back.

And chances were he _wasn't _coming back. Even Ron and Hermione didn't know where he was, and if you asked them about it, they got upset. You could tell because Ron stared at the floor, and Hermione pressed her lips together into a tight, thin line.

Eventually people stopped asking.

The point was, that it didn't make any sense for Draco to sit around thinking about someone who may as well have been dead for all the good he was doing.

He made himself a cup of tea and went to sit on his couch.

When he got tired of pretending to relax, he hauled his bag over and opened one of the files. No one said he couldn't work at home.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_Do you ever miss it?" Harry asked, turning his face from the window to look behind him at Draco who was curled up in a chair with a thick book._

"_Miss what?" Draco asked, not looking up._

"_Being out there." _

_Draco snorted. "Hardly. While being cooped up in this horrid house with you is not my idea of a good time, it's far better than being hexed out there." There was no hostility in Draco's words, and there was a smirk playing around his mouth as he read. _

_Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. It was raining, as it often did, and the brunette watched the drops streak down the glass for a moment until Draco spoke again._

"_Do __**you **__miss it?" _

"_I...dunno. I've spent a lot of my life being cooped up in one way or another." _

_Draco turned a page. "This has to be better than the cupboard." _

"_It's bigger than the cupboard, but the company there was more agreeable. I never heard the spiders complaining about the way I make tea." _

"_Maybe if you didn't make tea like an utter plebeian, I wouldn't complain." _

_Harry shook his head. "Maybe if you weren't a spoiled ponce, you wouldn't complain." _

_Apparently that didn't merit a response because Draco just kept reading. It was another few minutes before the silence was broken again. "You'll be free one day," Draco said softly. _

"_I'm not so sure." _

Draco sighed, rubbing at his face as he waited for the lift on Monday morning. His weekend hadn't been remarkable. Saturday had seen him having a lie in and then doing some shopping, and on Sunday he'd had lunch with his mother.

She'd asked all of the usual questions: How was work? Was he being safe? When was he going to put effort into his social life, and did he know that Astoria Greengrass was still single?

His answers were the same: Busy. Yes, of course. When he things slowed down, and yes because she was a gold digging whore much like her sister.

He pushed his hair out of his face and got into the lift when the doors opened. There were a few other people inside, and he moved so that he could lean against the back of the lift. Auror Samson, an older man who wasn't all that fond of him, leaned in close.

"Heard the news, then?" he asked.

Draco blinked. "No," he said coolly. "I only just arrived."

"Word is Auror Weasley wants to see you in his office as soon as you get up there."

"Is this about the Americans?" Draco wanted to know.

"Sure is. Apparently the Americans, Weasley, _and_the Japanese DMLE figured something out. Weasley didn't look happy about whatever it was."

"How do you even know this?"

Samson shrugged. "I was here yesterday when it happened."

"When _what _happened?" Draco snapped. If there was one thing he hated, it was being out of the loop. Especially in this job.

"Not exactly sure," the older man replied, smirking just a little. The lift stopped then, and the cool female voice announced that they had arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Guess you'll find out soon," Samson continued as they stepped off.

Draco rolled his eyes, and walked faster, trying to lose the other man. He bypassed his own office, heading straight to Ron's to find out what was going on.

Before he could knock on the door, it was yanked open by none other than the Minister himself. Draco's eyes jumped up to his hairline.

"Good morning, Minister."

"Malfoy," Kingsley said. "Come on in. We've been waiting for you."

"You could have called me in earlier," Draco muttered, dropping into a chair on the other side of Ron's desk.

"No, we couldn't," Ron said. "Because then you would have come in."

"Yes, Weasley, that would be the point," Draco drawled.

"Alright, you two," Kingsley interrupted. "I need you to focus here. Weasley, you were going to fill Malfoy in?"

"Right," Ron replied, clearing his throat. If there was one thing Draco would say for the man who was essentially his boss, it was that when it was time to work, Ron got down to business. He flipped open a file and slid it across the desk to Draco. "So, as you know, I've been in communication with the Head of the American DMLE. Recently they've been recording flares of raw magic that they cannot trace. All they know is that it isn't coming from anyone they have registered with the Bureau of Magical Affairs, and that for raw magic to be registering like it is, it has to be pretty powerful."

Draco frowned. "When you say raw magic, you mean magic not channeled through a wand?" he asked.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Apparently raw magic happens all the time, what with the accidental magic kids do before they know any better, and the occasional outburst when someone powerful enough is mad enough. Usually these flares aren't big enough to even register."

"But this is strong enough to draw their attention," Draco murmured.

"Exactly," Kingsley answered. "According to Captain Pritchett, their head Police-witch, there aren't any magic users that powerful in their country right now. That kind of power is very rare, and there are only two schools of magic that turn out witches and wizards of that caliber."

"Let me guess," Draco said dryly. "Hogwarts is one of them?"

Ron nodded. "Second on the list, in fact. First is some school in Japan. Long story short, the Americans want us to go over there see if we know who this super powerful person is. Personally, I'm hoping it's one of the Japanese."

Draco could tell from the stubborn set of Ron's jaw that there was something he was missing about this case. Something that was upsetting the Head Auror. Before he had time to puzzle it out, Kingsley was getting to his feet.

"I've another meeting to get to, so I'll leave you two to confer about the best course of action. Auror Weasley, you'll keep me informed?"

"Of course, Minister," Ron said, standing as well.

"Very good." With that, the Minister swept from the office, closing the door behind him.

Ron plopped back down into his chair and let his head fall onto the desk. "This is going to be a nightmare," he groaned.

"What is it?" Draco asked. "What aren't you telling me?"

"What, you mean Malfoy the genius can't work it out for himself?"

"Will you just tell me?"

Ron sighed, looking up. "Okay, think about it this way. Hogwarts turns out some powerful witches and wizards, yeah, but there are still only a few whose raw magic would register. Most of us never learn to do wandless magic at all. _You_know some, but you learned it when you were...you know."

Draco did know. Many Dark spells were learned wandlessly because they were nearly impossible to trace when they didn't have a wand to lead back to. As a result Death Eaters had been required to learn how to do small bits of wandless magic.

"So you think this person might be a former Death Eater?" Draco wanted to know. "I suppose it makes sense. There are still a few of them that we can't account for."

"Any ideas who might have been powerful enough?"

Draco thought for a moment, mind flashing back to the days of fear and chaos. "Either of the Lestranges for certain," he said. "Severus and...my father."

Ron winced sympathetically. "Okay, we know it's not Snape or Bellatrix or your father. So that leaves-"

"We can't discount my father," Draco argued.

"He's dead, Malfoy."

"He's _assumed_dead, Weasley. His body was never found."

"True, but there's been no trace of him for eight years. Your mother is convinced that he's dead, and no offence, but Lucius Malfoy never struck me as the type to set up in America of all places."

Draco sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Mm, that's a fair point. It is far more likely that we're dealing with someone like Rabastan Lestrange or his brother Rodolphus. Their standards were always lower, and they had a higher capacity for senseless cruelty."

Ron pulled the file back towards himself and made a few notes, muttering to himself all the while. Draco took that as a sign to leave and was about to push to his feet when a sudden flash of memory made him pause.

_Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco as he sat down across from him at the kitchen table, wandlessly summoning five lumps of sugar from the bowl across the room and making them dance around Draco's head before he dumped them into his tea._

"_You're disgusting," Draco said, a smile twitching his lips._

"_Says the sugar fiend." _

"_Not in the tea, you pillock." _

_Harry rolled his eyes, flicking his fingers to bring that day's Daily Prophet to him. "You'll get over it. Come on. Let's see what they've written about us today." _

Draco blinked, hands clenching at his sides, eyes far away.

Ron looked up and tilted his head. "Malfoy, you okay?"

"Yes," the blond said, shaking his head quickly. "Fine. I'm just thinking about the case."

"Good, because you're going to be on this one, Malfoy. I can't go running off to America, but I _can_send you, and I plan to if it comes to that."

"But of course, Head Auror Weasley," Draco replied, offering Ron a mocking bow. "You know I live to serve."

"It's not like you have anything better to do," Ron retorted with a grin. "Get out of here. I want your thoughts on the Dewit case before lunch."

Draco waved a hand at Ron over his shoulder and headed to his own office.

* * *

It was around seven that evening when Draco got home. He'd spent the day writing up reports for the last three cases he'd wrapped up, and making notes for new ones that would be given out to other Aurors. When things were relatively quiet on the crime front, Draco spent a fair amount of time reading reports and doing paperwork.

It wasn't that he particularly wanted to lighten Weasley's load, but when there was work to be done Draco wanted to be doing it. Being idle did not sit well with him. It hadn't since...well, not since he started spending so much time alone. In his experience, having too much time to think was no longer a good thing.

He made himself a quick dinner, and settled down on the couch with a cup of tea. Draco had been looking at reports all day, so he summoned a book from one of the shelves in his sitting room and opened it, quickly losing himself in words about advanced Potions theory. It was still one of his favorite subjects, and whenever a case dealing with potions cropped up, he was immediately assigned to it.

A comfortable couple of hours passed, during which Draco forgot all about work and Harry Potter and just let himself relax.

His peace was short lived, however, and just as he was contemplating taking a shower and heading to bed, there was a tap at his window.

An owl that he recognized as the screech Ron used at work was perched on the sill, giving him a stern look. Brow furrowed, Draco went to let the bird in, glaring at it when it dropped the letter onto the floor and took off again.

"Bloody bird," Draco muttered to himself, bending down to pick up the parchment that was sealed with the stamp of the Head Auror.

It had to be something important, as Ron never sent him work owls at home, knowing that would just make Draco work more. The blond tapped the seal with his wand, and it glowed red for a second before dissipating and allowing the letter to fall open.

_Malfoy,_

_Another spike was recorded in America. A big one. Head of the BOMA is demanding that we get someone over there. _

_Portkey leaves at 8 am. Be nice to the Americans._

_R.W._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Draco had been in America for all of an hour, and so far he was extremely unimpressed.

The Bureau was located in New York, which to Draco's eye was a filthy city packed to bursting with people who looked, and in some cases, smelled, like they didn't wash. The Muggles here were certainly more vibrant than the ones he'd encountered back home, but that did little to endear them to him. And they were everywhere, standing on the sides of the streets, pouring out of buildings, leaning out from carts, calling out the names of things Draco could only assume were foods. There was so much, and he knew that even if he weren't here on business, he would never have enough time to get used to a place like this.

As it was, he barely had time to look at anything anyway, since the witch who had met him at the Portkey Customs Office walked as quickly as she talked.

The Portkey Office was not in the same building as the Bureau for whatever reason, so they'd jaunted across the street to an industrial looking megalith of a building that Draco had to crane his neck to see the top of. The dash across the street had nearly killed him. He'd seen cars before, but never so many in one place, with people hanging out of the driver's side windows yelling obscenities.

From the nonchalant air that the witch, Tamara Jones, he reminded himself, had hauled him across the street, he gathered that this was a regular occurrence.

"Don't the Muggles notice this?" he'd asked her as they entered into the cool front lobby of the building.

"Oh yeah," Tamara replied, her heels clacking on the polished floor as she led him over to a bank of lifts. "They notice it. It would have been murder to try to hide something this big in a city like this." She pressed a button on the wall and tapped her foot impatiently. "But there are strong repelling charms on it, and it looks like a run down apartment building to them. Most of them keep away."

Draco nodded, stepping into the lift with Tamara when the doors slid open. She mashed another button, and the doors closed, allowing the lift to start moving up.

"But why have your Bureau in a Muggle area at all?" Draco couldn't help asking.

Tamara laughed. "To be honest, I think we just like using their resources. Running this place on electricity is so much easier than having it run on magic. I don't know how you do it over in Britain."

"We manage," Draco sniffed, and Tamara laughed again.

The lift dinged and they were moving again, heading down a hall filled with witches and wizards wearing Muggle clothes and bustling about. A few of them called out to Tamara, grinning at her and looking at Draco with interest.

He had a moment to be glad that he hadn't worn his robes liked he'd started to, before he was being dragged into an office.

The office was roomy and organized, with a mahogany desk in the middle. Behind the desk sat a woman with dark brown hair and light brown skin. She looked up and arched an eyebrow at Tamara.

"Morning, Captain Pritchett," Tamara said with a grin. "I've brought Auror Draco Malfoy to see you. He's the liaison from Britain's Magical Law Enforcement. Auror Malfoy, this is Captain Sophie Pritchett. She's our version of a Head Auror."

Captain Pritchett got to her feet and held a hand out. "Good to meet you Auror Malfoy."

"And you," Draco replied, shaking her hand.

The captain took her seat and gestured for Draco to take one across from the desk. "Thanks, Tamara," she said to the other woman. "I've got it from here."

Tamara gave the woman a salute and smiled at Draco. "It was nice to meet you Auror Malfoy," she said, waving before she dipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"I was honestly surprised to hear that your DMLE was sending someone over so quickly," Captain Pritchett was saying. "Officer Yukimura from Japan hasn't even acknowledged my request yet." She shook her head. "I keep saying that we need some kind of international committee for these things, you know? So we all can communicate better."

Draco nodded. "That would certainly make things easier."

"It would. But hey, these things aren't up to me. I make suggestions, and they tell me that my job is to keep the people safe. Which of course brings me back to why you are here. How much do you know about the situation, Auror Malfoy?"

"I've been thoroughly briefed by Head Auror Weasley. You've been recording high levels of raw magic from an unknown witch or wizard that you think is either a natural citizen of Britain or Japan based on their power levels."

Pritchett inclined her head. "Exactly. Now, these flares are registering as Dark Magic, but we can't say for sure if they are. Raw magic usually hits the radar as Dark because it's wandless."

"Understandable."

"Head Auror Weasley said that you have unusual experience with wandless magic?"

Draco snorted. "That's one way of putting it. Suffice it to say that I can do a fair bit and have dealt with it before. Have you traced these flares to a particular area yet?"

"That's what my team is working on now," Pritchett answered, flicking her wand and unrolling a map on the wall to the side of her desk. "See that red circle?" she asked, gesturing to an area that was ringed in red ink. "That's as close as we can pinpoint it."

Draco rose from his chair and went to look at the map. "How big of an area is it, really?"

"Technically only about a mile all together, but there are a lot of shops and apartments clustered on top of each other. Urban sprawl is definitely going to make finding this person harder."

"And what will you do, if we do find them?" Draco wanted to know.

Pritchett shrugged. "Question them. There aren't many who do wandless magic without a reason. I want to know where this person is from, why they're here, and what they are doing that requires so much magic."

Before Draco could open his mouth to reply, an alarm rang out from the corner of the office. Pritchett swore and rose to walk over to a box that was lighting up and recording numbers. "This is the machine that record the flares of magic," she explained to Draco. Her eyes widened as she read the numbers. "God. This is the biggest one we've seen so far and we've been recording this for weeks. It's also reading much Darker than usual."

The door slammed open then and a man ran in. "Captain Pritchett! We need to get a team down to Area 9 right away."

The woman turned to look at him. "Situation?"

"Info's still coming in. So far, it looks like a wizard went apeshit. Multiple Muggles down; no word on casualties."

The captain swore again. "If this isn't our mystery person's work, I'll eat my badge. Declan, get your team together. Have someone alert the emergency response team and for God's sake make sure there are some Obliviators on the scene."

The man, Declan, nodded, saluted, and rushed off.

Pritchett sighed. "I knew this wasn't going to stay peaceful. What do you think, Auror Malfoy? Ready to see what this is all about?"

Draco smirked. "Certainly." This was what he had trained for.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Draco Apparated to what the Police-wizards called Area 9 with Pritchett. He could see bodies scattered around on the ground in front of what appeared to be a cafe. There was already a team of mediwizards tending to the wounded, and the Obliviators were keeping the crowds under control. Declan hurried over to the two of them.

"Who're you?" he asked Draco.

"This is Auror Malfoy," Pritchett replied. "He's British. What've we got?"

Declan turned to point at the injured. "Muggles. None dead, but they are seriously injured. Something slashed them all good."

"Can the mediwizards handle it?"

"They're doing what they can."

Something stirred in Draco's mind and he moved forward to look at the nearest victim. It was a woman, wearing a light yellow dress that was liberally stained with blood. He had a flash of remembering, and his blood ran cold.

"Auror Malfoy?" Pritchett asked, walking closer to him.

"I know this spell," he murmured. "I...I was a victim of it some time ago."

The captain's dark eyes trained on him. "Who cast it?"

"A friend. Well, we weren't friends at the time. Did they find who did this?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Chances are he or she's long gone by now. What can you tell me about this spell?"

Draco tore his eyes away from the Muggle woman. "The spell is Sectumsempra. Dark, definitely, and it was created by a former Death Eater decades ago. You know of the Death Eaters?"

The woman nodded. "We heard about them. How do you recommend we treat it?"

"I think the mediwizards are doing the right thing," he replied, looking over at the members of the team who were moving among the wounded. "The Muggles might need some blood replenishers, though. And they will be out of it for at least a day. Depending on how deep the cuts are, there might be scarring."

Pritchett called over one of the mediwizards and relayed that information. "We're going to need to move out of here very soon," she said after a moment. "And we need to get all the information from this scene that we can. Walk with me."

Draco fell into step with the woman, sharp eyes taking in everything that was happening around them. "That spell takes a high level of power to do _with _a wand," he murmured. "Anyone who can do it wandlessly is not someone to take lightly."

"So it's pretty safe to assume that this is one of your people, then?" Pritchett asked.

"I'd say so."

"And this Death Eater who created it," she said slowly. "Was he the one who used this spell on you?"

Draco shook his head. "No. Ironically enough, _he _was the one who made sure I came out of the whole thing alive."

"So other people know the spell?"

"I've never seen it used by anyone other than the person who used it on me, but it's possible. If one has the power, it's not hard to master."

Pritchett tapped her lips, thoughtfully as they walked the perimeter of the scene, Police-wizards bustling around them, making sure everything was cleaned up and contained. "If this person is one of your former Death Eaters, what do you propose we do?"

Draco snorted. "Lock them up. The only ones our government cannot account for are the most dangerous ones."

"Lovely," the captain replied dryly.

"Captain!" The shout made them both turn their heads and hurry over. A Police-witch was kneeling at the entrance to an alley, eyes trained on something. "You'll want to see this," she said.

Pritchett leaned in before Draco could. "Do you think he's one of the injured?" she asked.

The Police-witch shook her head. "No blood, Captain. Unless he was hit by something else. He's also not a Muggle."

With a strange mixture of dread and anxiety coiling in his stomach, Draco moved so that he could look down at the male the two women were examining.

He was unconscious, but even with his eyes closed, and as dirty as he looked, Draco would have known him anywhere. After all, there weren't any other wizards with hair that untidy and a scar that distinctive. "Potter," he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away.

Pritchett nudged him. "I take it he's one of yours."

"Yes," Draco replied, mouth suddenly very dry. "He is definitely one of ours."


	4. Chapter 4

__Chapter 4

_19 July, 1998_

_Ron and Hermione,_

_I've just realized that probably no one told my aunt, uncle, and cousin that Voldemort's dead and I'm alive. They deserve to know that they can go back to their home. So I'm going to go tell them that. I don't know where exactly the Order hid them, so it make take a bit to find them. _

_Don't worry about me. _

_Harry_

* * *

_21 July, 1998_

_Harry,_

_While we think it's very admirable that you want to go let your family know you're alive, you can't just disappear like this. There are still Death Eaters out there who would love to get revenge on you. _

_We have no idea where you are, but owls were always good at finding Sirius when we didn't know his location. Hopefully this letter finds you well._

_Hermione._

_P.S. Ron says hi._

* * *

_11 August, 1998_

_Harry James Potter,_

_It has been three weeks since you left, and you can't send an owl to let us know you're okay? If you can't find your aunt and uncle, then just come back. I'm sure Kingsley can send someone out to find them. He might even know where they are already._

_Let us know you're okay._  
_  
Hermione_

* * *

_3 November, 1998_

_So you've just run away, then? I don't know what else you expect us to think now that you've been gone this long, Harry. I refuse to think that something's happened to you, so I'm just going to have to assume that you're out there somewhere ignoring these letters and the fact that we're all worried about you._

_Ginny's with Neville now, did you know? She got tired of waiting. She said that you're always running off on her and that that isn't likely to change. I'm beginning to think she has a point._

_We're your friends, Harry. If you needed time, you could have just told us._

_Hermione._

* * *

_25 March, 1999_

_Hermione,_

_I'm fine. Please stop._

_H_

* * *

_2 May, 1999_

_Draco,_

_I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone about this letter; I'm not really planning on coming back, but I remembered that a year ago, I promised to look after you. A letter is a lame way to do that, but it's all I can think of right now. _

_You're better than anyone, including yourself, gives you credit for, Draco. You're smart and funny, and you're a survivor. I know things are hard right now because people are morons. They can't see past your name or your Mark enough to realise that you are not the enemy. Ignore them. You can do anything, Draco. I believe that. _

_Harry_

* * *

It was about an hour after Draco and Captain Pritchett had Apparated back to the BOMA, and Draco was frustrated. He'd had to argue with the captain and a few others, but he'd finally gotten them to agree to let him question Potter when he woke up. He didn't think that Potter had attacked those Muggles, but then, he hadn't seen the other man in about eight years.

They were in one of the interrogation rooms. Draco had transfigured the table into a cot, and Potter was resting on it. _He_ was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, staring at the other man. Of all the ways he'd thought he would see Potter again, this was not one of them.

When they'd first arrived, Draco had taken time to examine Potter. A quick spell assured him that this was the real Harry Potter, not someone using a glamour or Polyjuice. It looked like he had grown a few inches, and his hair certainly had. It was shaggy and fell over his forehead, the fringe parted to show the familiar lightning bolt scar. They had found a pair of trendy glasses next to Potter's unconscious body, and Draco had brought them back, placing the frames next to Potter on the cot.

Draco grew tired of sitting in the chair, so he started pacing the room, wondering what on earth he was going to say when Potter woke up.

_Nice to see you aren't dead, Potter. Now tell me, did you do to a street full of Muggles what you did to me about ten years ago?_

Or perhaps: _So this is where you've been hiding. I have to admit, I thought you could do better. _

But certainly not: _You fucking wanker, you said you were going to look after me, and you bloody disappeared. You can't just do that. I had to be friends with a Weasley because of you. Multiple fucking Weasleys, in fact. How could you?_

A soft groan jerked Draco from his musings, and he turned to look at the cot. Potter was blinking his eyes open and making to sit up.

"You'll want to be careful," Draco said. "We're not sure how long you've been out or why, so you might have some head damage."

Potter frowned, sitting up fully and blinking blearily at Draco. "Malfoy?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh so you _do _remember me," Draco drawled flatly, ignoring the pleased fluttering in his stomach. "I'm so terribly flattered."

"Where are my glasses?"

"Next to you."

Potter squinted myopically at the cot and closed his hand around the black frames before shoving them onto his face and staring at Draco. "Merlin, it is you. Either that or I have a concussion and I'm hallucinating all this. What the fuck are _you_doing here?"

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Do you even know where _here _is?"

"Er...no, I guess I don't," Potter responded, looking around. "What's going on?"

"I was rather hoping you could tell me," Draco said. "We're at the Bureau of Magical Affairs. And you're being held for questioning. Luckily for you, the powers that be are letting _me_ do the questioning."

Potter snorted. "You call that luck? Wait, questioning for what?"

"For the street full of nearly eviscerated Muggles."

"I didn't do that!" Potter said vehemently.

"Well someone did it, and you were the only wizard at the site. _And_the spell used was one you're familiar with."

"You're familiar with it, too."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I know that. Just what are you suggesting?"

Potter shrugged. "It's just strange that you turn up here at the same time that a bunch of Muggles are attacked."

"I'm here for my _job_, you bloody moron."

"Someone gave _you_ a job?" the brunette asked, surprised.

"No one _gave _me anything," Draco snapped, a bit hurt and confused as to why Potter was acting this way. "I'm an Auror."

"Oh Merlin, they must be hard up."

"Fuck _off_. Look, just answer my fucking questions, alright? And then you can go back to whatever hole you were hiding in before and pretend you never saw me."

With a sigh, Potter crossed his arms and met Draco's eyes. "Fine. Ask away."

"Thank you ever so much. Now. What did you see?"

"You mean aside from the Death Eater that cursed all the Muggles?" Potter asked innocently.

"Which Death Eater?" Draco wanted to know.

"I don't know. He had on a mask and a hood."

"Potter, why would a fully garbed Death Eater be waltzing around in the middle of Muggle New York? That doesn't even make sense. Most of them are dead or in prison, and the ones who are missing aren't that stupid."

"Except for you, apparently."

Draco would have flinched if he weren't skilled at hiding his reactions. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, voice low.

"You have the Mark, and yet _you're _just waltzing around free. And you've somehow gotten into the Auror Corps. Pay someone off, Malfoy?"

"What are you talking about? I helped the Order in the war, Potter," Draco said, frowning. "You know that. You were there."

Potter snorted disdainfully. "Right. Pull the other one, Malfoy."

Now Draco was really concerned. Potter sounded so convinced that some of the most defining moments of the war for him had never happened. He furrowed his brow. "What's the last thing you saw me doing during the war?" he asked.

"Pointing a wand at Dumbledore and threatening to kill him," Potter answered, anger filling his eyes. "Going on about how you had been chosen to end his life."

Draco blinked. "So you've no recollection of me turning up at Grimmauld Place with Severus and offering up information about Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Or of me helping you, Weasley, and Granger back into Hogwarts before the final battle?"

"No, because that never happened," Potter spat. "You ran and hid like a little coward after sixth year. I don't know what you did during the war, but it certainly wasn't helping the Order. Or me."

The conviction, the..._loathing _in those words cut Draco somewhere deep and personal. He had worked so hard to get Potter and his friends to trust him all those years ago, and now...Well now it was as if all of that work had never happened. At least as far as Potter was concerned. Which might have been the worst part of it. "You really don't remember," he murmured, mostly to himself. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me," Potter said firmly. "I left England because I was tired of being hounded by the press."

"So you ran and hid. Like a little coward?" Draco couldn't help saying.

"Fuck you, Malfoy! I'm not...I'm not hiding. I just needed a break."

"Eight years isn't a break, Potter. Eight years _is_ hiding." He held up a hand to cut off whatever angry protest Potter was about to make. "Can we please just get back to the questioning?"

"Fine. Whatever."

Draco forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. He could deal with whatever was going on with Potter's memories after he'd done his job. He grabbed the notepad and quill that had been left in the room for such purposes and used a transcription spell to make the quill record what Potter said. "Alright," he remarked. "Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Be detailed. Even information that doesn't seem important-"

"I know how it works," Potter snapped, cutting him off.

"Then get on with it."

Potter rolled his eyes and made himself more comfortable. "I was going to the cafe like I do everyday, and-"

"Why do you go there everyday?" Draco interrupted.

A flush lit Potter's cheeks. "I work there," he ground out.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "From boy hero to barista. I mean, please continue."

"You really are a massive twat, aren't you?"

"According to you," Draco replied. "Keep going."

"Arse. Anyway. I was going to work for my eight a.m. shift, and I felt like someone was following me. I guess he was using a Disilluisonment or something because I couldn't see him. He followed me all the way to the cafe, and I knew I couldn't let him inside, so I turned around and told whoever it was to show themselves. He lifted the spell, and I saw that it was a tall wizard in black robes and a hood with a Death Eater mask."

"How do you know it was a wizard?" Draco asked.

"Because he did magic. Remember all the _magically_ injured Muggles?"

Draco clenched his fist at his side, praying for strength. "I meant as opposed to a witch."

"Oh. Because of his build. He was bulky and had a masculine shape." For some reason Potter's cheeks went faintly pink.

"Right. Continue."

"There were Muggles about, of course, and they stopped when this great hooded and masked idiot seemed to appear out of nowhere. I asked him what he wanted, but he just cast a wandless Sectumsempra, taking out the small crowd of Muggles. I...I can do wandless magic too, so I threw up a shield in front of myself and tried to stun him, but he ran. I chased after him and he hit me with something. It was a nonverbal spell, so I don't know what it was." Potter shrugged. "Then I passed out."

With a frown, Draco thought all of that over. It didn't make sense for there to be a Death Eater in full regalia just attacking people in broad daylight. None of the ones who were missing were that stupid. An imposter, perhaps? But what would be their motive? "Was this the first time that you've been followed?" he asked.

Potter shook his head. "No, it's happened once or twice before. Usually on my way home from the cafe. Whoever it is is usually gone by the time I make it back to my place."

"Hm. Learning your habits, your route, perhaps," Draco muttered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "No one back home knows where you are?"

"No. Just you," Potter replied. He scowled then. "And you had better not tell anyone you saw me, either. I like my life now."

Draco waved that away. "Always so full of yourself. I have more important things to do than gossip about your whereabouts, idiot. Like the nutter running around slashing up Muggles. What I want to know is how he would know that spell."

"Snape didn't teach it to you all at the Death Eater socials?"

"Oh grow up, Potter. The war is over. No. Severus never taught it to us. The first time I ever saw it was when you used it on me in that bathroom." Draco took a deep breath and pushed his hair back. "Look. I'm not going to sit here and argue with you about this. I know you didn't curse those Muggles, but there's a whole team of Police-wizards out there who think you might have. So if you want to walk out of here today, I suggest you stop making cracks about my past and let me do my job. Got it?"

Potter's eyes were wide. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good. Stay there while I go talk to Pritchett." With that Draco swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

"I understand your position, Auror Malfoy, but you can surely see how this looks," Captain Pritchett said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "There was a major attack on several Muggles in broad daylight, and the only wizard at the scene claims to be innocent. We have to be sure before we can just release him."

Draco sighed. "Yes, I know, Captain. But he didn't do this. He's Harry bloody Potter. He doesn't do things like this."

"Well, according to you, he's been missing for the last eight years. No disrespect meant, Auror Malfoy, but how do you know he hasn't changed?"

Draco fought a wince as he remembered the words Potter had spat at him back in the interrogation room. "I just know," he answered firmly. "This wasn't his doing." He thought for a moment and then perked up. "What if you looked at his memory of the event?" Draco asked.

"We could do that," Pritchett murmured. "Is there any way Potter could tamper with the memory to support his story?"

"No," Draco replied, shaking his head. "Well, yes, but it's easy to tell when a memory has been tampered with if you know what to look for."

"And I suppose you do?"

Draco smirked at the woman. "We're very well trained in Britain."

Pritchett rolled her eyes. "Fine. It'll take me a couple of days to get clearance for use of a Pensieve in this case."

"What will happen to Potter until then?"

"Usually a suspect stays in our custody unless there's a good reason why they shouldn't, but since this is somewhat of a special case, I would be willing to release him into _your _custody, Auror Malfoy. That's the best I can do. He has to stay in the country, and someone has to keep an eye on him."

Oh joy. Potter would just _love _that. Draco let out a breath. "Fair enough. I'll go see which he'd rather do."

"You do that. Are you going to report to your Ministry about all of this?"

Draco closed his eyes. _Fuck._Of course he should be sending regular reports back to Weasley about how everything was going, but this...this was something that wasn't as easy to just write down and send. "I...yes. Yes, I will be in contact with Head Auror Weasley once I get Potter situated," he answered, rising from his chair. "Thank you, Captain Pritchett, for you help."

The woman nodded. "It's nothing. I just want to get to the bottom of this."

"Don't we all?" Draco muttered, heading back to the interrogation room where Potter was waiting. He pushed the door open, swallowing hard when he saw Potter stretched out on the cot. It had been so long since he'd seen the other man. So long since they had laughed and joked about their situation while they were holed up at Grimmauld Place, and unless Potter was a better liar than he had ever been before, he had no recollection of them being friends.

Potter cracked open an eye. "So? What's the verdict?"

Draco blinked and schooled his face back into neutrality. "Well, there's good news and bad news," he said.

"They still think I did it?"

"I don't think so. But as you're the only suspect they have right now, they have to be careful."

"So, what, I'm being arrested?" Potter wanted to know.

"No. I convinced them to view your memory of the event since it would be evident if it were tampered with. They can use that to verify your story."

"Oh. Thanks, Malfoy," Potter said, frowning. "What's the bad news, then?"

Draco sighed. "It's going to take a couple of days for Captain Pritchett to get approval to use a Pensieve in this case. Until that time, you have a choice. Either you can stay here under their custody, or be released into mine."

He could see the irritation flare in Potter's eyes, and he really couldn't blame him. But he had done the best he could, and the git would just have to deal with it.

"Do I have to go back to England if I'm in your custody?" Potter asked softly.

Draco shook his head. "No, you can't leave the country until this is resolved."

"So you'll be staying here?"

"Yes, Potter. Even if you decide to stay in Pritchett's custody, I have to stay here until the case is solved, as per Weasley's orders."

That gave the other man pause. "Which Weasley?" he whispered.

"Ronald. He's head Auror, and I'm his unofficial second in command."

"Wow," Potter said, blinking as his lips curled into a smile. "I always knew he could do it. Way to go, Ron."

"Yes, well, it helped that he was partnered with me, and that we were brilliant at what we did. _I _am still one of the most successful field Aurors currently working for the Ministry."

Potter bit his lip and frowned harder, rubbing his temple. "I...why did you become an Auror, Malfoy? What made you think you could do it?" The words weren't harsh. They were somewhat frustrated, and definitely curious.

Draco looked away. Obviously he couldn't give Potter the real answer. Well, he _could_, but that probably wouldn't end well. "I just...I wanted to do something that mattered after the war. Someone close to me told me that I could do anything I wanted, that they believed in me. So I went into training, and I was good at it." He shrugged. "It's not much of a story."

Potter sat up and squinted at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Whatever. I don't actually care. What happens if I go with you?"

"Then I go find us a hotel to check into," Draco replied, trying not to regret that they had returned to business.

"I do have an apartment here, you know," Potter protested. "Why can't I just stay there?"

"Because the whole point of you being in my custody is for me to actually _be there, _you idiot."

"I know that, you arse. You can come too, if you must."

Draco blinked. "You want me to stay at your apartment?"

"No. I'd rather you be as far away from my apartment as possible, but I don't want to stay at a hotel either. I'm caught between a rock and a hard place."

"What does that even mean, Potter?" Draco asked derisively.

Potter rolled his eyes. "It's a Muggle saying; don't worry about it. Look, it's just for a couple of days, right? We can probably handle that. We're adults now."

With cool, grey eyes, Draco observed Potter. It was probably a bad idea to go to Potter's apartment. In fact, it was probably a bad idea to get involved with him at all. He'd worked quite hard to let go of all of his emotions regarding Potter's disappearance, and this was not helping. Still, he couldn't deny that he was curious to find out what Potter had been doing for all of these years. So, against his better judgement, he nodded. "Alright. I suppose we can manage to coexist for a couple of days without hexing each other." _We've done it before, after all._

* * *

Potter's apartment was sparse, but it fit with Draco's image of the man. It was messy, but not horrendously so, more cluttered than anything. The furniture was worn, but it looked comfortable, and there were all manner of Muggle devices in the kitchen and living room.

Potter dropped his keys into a bowl on a small table near the door, and snapped his fingers, turning on the lights in the living room. "I've a spare room, so you don't have kip on the couch or anything. It's not much, but..." he shrugged.

"It's fine, Potter," Draco said, dropping his bags by the couch. It had been a long, trying day for him; not to mention the fact that his body was sure he should have been asleep hours ago. It had taken another hour and a half to clear everything with Pritchett and her team for Potter to be released. He should have been thinking about writing a report for Weasley, but all that was on his mind was a shower, a soft bed, and perhaps a cup of tea.

He was startled from his musings by Potter opening cupboard and running water. "Tea?" he asked. "I probably don't have anything fancy like you're used to, but you look like you could use a cup."

"Potter, I work insane hours, and I live by myself," Draco said, stifling a yawn behind one elegant hand. "My standards for many things have been considerably lowered."

"You still talk like a ponce, though," Potter returned, setting the kettle on what Draco recognized as a stove top.

"And you still have all the social grace and manners of a Confunded troll. Nice to see some things haven't changed."

Potter snorted, pulling out the milk and sugar for the tea. The kitchen was quiet for a while then. Draco was busy trying to figure out how he was going to write a report for Weasley while leaving out the fact that Potter was involved. Trust the inconsiderate wanker to show back up and immediately start making things hard for him.

"How do you take your tea?" said wanker asked, pouring water from the kettle.

"Just with a splash of milk," Draco replied, without thinking. "Not with five bloody lumps of sugar like you take it."

There was a sharp inhale from Potter, and Draco looked up, realizing what he had said. The brunette had a strange look on his face, and he was rubbing his temple again.

"How do you know how I take my tea?" he murmured.

"Er...lucky guess," Draco said quickly. "You seem the type to make tea like an-"

"Utter plebeian," Potter whispered, eyes landing on Draco's face and holding there. "Why is that familiar to me?"

Draco swallowed. It was clear that something had happened to Potter's memory, but it seemed like flashes of it were trying to come back, probably due to his proximity to Draco. It was also becoming clear that it was going to take some work to figure out what was going on. But he would think about that later. Perhaps when he'd had a decent night's sleep and had a clear head with which to formulate a plan.

He got to his feet with a groan. "I don't know, Potter. Perhaps you know instinctively that you are, in fact, an utter plebeian. While you ponder that, I'd like to get some rest."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." Potter shook his head quickly. "Come on, I'll show you where everything is and you can drink your tea in bed or whatever."

That sounded good to Draco.

* * *

"_Draco? Draco, are you awake?"_

"_Do I bloody look awake? What time is it?" _

"_Early."_

"_What do you want, Potter?" _

"_I...can I stay in here with you?"_

"_Why?" _

"_Nightmare. Bad one." _

"_Fine. Get in. But if you kick me, or try to steal the blankets, your arse will end up on the floor." _

"_Thanks, Draco." _

"_Shut up; I'm sleeping."_

Waking up that next morning was a struggle for Draco. His body was still trying to adjust to being in another country, and it wasn't like he had had an uneventful first day in America. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair as he remembered the dream he'd had.

It made sense that he was dreaming of Potter and the past since he was in the man's bloody apartment. It would have been much easier to try to forget about whatever was going on with Potter and to focus on this case, but it seemed like the two of them were probably linked. The fact that Potter didn't remember Draco's role at the end of the war, or the couple of months that they had spent living together at Grimmauld Place screamed foul play,especially when coupled with the fact that he seemed to be remembering little snippets of things.

But who would want to Obliviate Potter? And why would they remove his memories of Draco? Perhaps it was the same person who was stalking him.

Draco sighed and shook his head. He needed to send a message to Weasley about the case, and he wanted to find something eat, and to do either of those things, he had to get up.

He pulled on some clothes and exited the spare room into a silent apartment. There was a note on the kitchen counter, and Draco sighed. He was so tired of reading notes from this idiot.

_Malfoy, _it read.

_You never said if I could go to work today or not, so I'm going anyway. Especially since I never made it in yesterday. I should be back around 4. Food and stuff is in the fridge. __**DON'T BURN MY APARTMENT DOWN!**_

_H_

Draco rolled his eyes and incinerated the note with a wave of his hand, just because he could.

In the end, finding food was the easy part. He even managed to put together a cup of tea, shuddering at the large collection of sugar cubes Potter seemed to have. The hard part was sitting at the table with his toast and eggs and staring at the piece of parchment he was meant to be writing his report on. Weasley would be anxious for news by now (or asleep; Draco actually had no idea of the time difference between London and New York), and he had to write something.

"I'll just write what happened, and leave Potter's name out of it," he murmured, putting his quill to the parchment. He felt bad about lying, even by omission, but he had to figure out what was going on here.


End file.
